


part of the love club.

by Prettything_uglylie



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bipolar Bill Denbrough, Blood and Violence, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Character Study, Eddie Kaspbrak Has Issues, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, F/M, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mixes of Canons, Multi, Pansexual Bill Denbrough, Richie Tozier Has ADHD, Richie Tozier's Internalized Homophobia, Teenage Losers Club (IT), The Losers Club Are Not Heterosexual (IT), The Losers Club Have the Shining (IT), The Losers Club Stay in Derry (IT), Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:55:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25865500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prettything_uglylie/pseuds/Prettything_uglylie
Summary: While the kids attempt to move on, the Losers Club learns that there is no real ending to It when living in Derry.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris, The Losers Club & The Losers Club (IT)
Kudos: 3





	part of the love club.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plight of Amber Ziegler is not one that goes noticed in the town of Derry.

> " it only stands to reason that where there's sacrifice, there's someone collecting the sacrificial offerings. Where there's service, there is someone being served. The man who speaks to you of sacrifice is speaking of slaves and masters, and intends to be the master. " 
> 
> **\- Ayn Rand.**

Her screams were loud enough to be heard if you were listening. Amber Ziegler, at ten-years-old, had grown up on Jackson Street approximately seven houses away from the gaping mouth of the Denbroughs' home - at ten, Amber and her friends had laughed and giggled and told ghost stories over the home that had housed the infamously dead Georgie Denbrough on sleepover nights where they would pass the flashlight around to tell stories of the cold house. 

She had not walked by it today. Her purple running shoes had not graced the sidewalk in front of the Denbroughs' home and had instead lodged itself as a warring reminder lodged in the crook of a mud bank in the exact opposite of her direction home and the Denbroughs' large house as well. The other direction is a shield of large shrubbery and trees painting a maze of greenery impossible to truly navigate the starts and stops of, buried in mud built into small pathways from trampling feet until they eventually stop. All of the pathways stop eventually, as though snatched from their own trail. 

Little less than half a mile from the forest buried inside the tight walls of Derry's land, is an open sewer pipe, maw constantly open and hungry, ready to rip and dissolve the area of anyone who encounters it. It's a granite and concrete tube, one neverending pipe, a world of concrete existing untouched but functioning as it does and occasionally prodded at by the hands of professionals. Professionals who include the likes of Zach Denbrough, the father of that cold Denbrough home and of George and William Denbrough, who works for the public works and sometimes works in the sewer system as well. 

Amber's little legs are tired though. At ten years old, the little girl still carries some of her baby fat and has not been known for running at her young age, too young to see a track team age or anything beyond small runs in gym classes. Her legs cramp at the sides, running taking its toll, and even as she runs, her body protests with itself as the ache burns through her tiny bones. 

The crunch of the leaves in the bushes beside her is louder than her panting breaths, the purposeful crunch of the leaves sudden and not attempting to hide that. Instead, it sounds like a warning shot, like the gunshots Amber remembers her stepfather firing into nowhere in particular when her drunk father came to the door demanding her mom with that weird liquid anger hanging from his fingers. 

It is a moment in which this little girl, too young to truly understand both life and death, feels like she is looking into the ebony end of her own casket roof while the lights of heaven - or something else eldritch and beyond human being's own comprehension - also stare in the face. Then, the snap of something, of a jaw. 

Amber Ziegler's tiny body hangs from the jaw of eldritch hunger, never able to catch her breath and simply another missing child. 

Her tiny light-up purple sneaker is stuck in the mud outside the trail to the forest. 

Another sacrifice to the hungry mouth that is Derry, Maine. 


End file.
